Best Served Cold
by Reading Disorder
Summary: Death is simply one more journey we all must take.
1. Prologue

**Best Served Cold  
**_a story by reading disorder_

Prologue

**O.O**

_The dragon was bleeding. Turrets of black blood jetted out like a fount, spraying something painfully acidic on my roguishly handsome face as I pierced the sword deeper and deeper into the wound. All around me, blue flames crackled. I twisted, pushed, sliced; heard the metallic grate of my blade rending through flesh and bone, the immense earth-shattering roar of an animal in great pain exploding in my head. __I took that moment to look back and marvel at my damage, and immediately regretted it. _

_Something whirred towards me - the dragon's lashing tail - and a lifetime of evading projectiles like beer bottles and arrows compelled me to duck just in time for a band of blackness to swoosh over my hair, only for it to smash into an imperial knight in mid-charge and send him flying off the edge of the tower._

_I've been fighting for hours and by now my adrenaline rush had left me. Every muscle in my body was screaming. There was hot lead running through my veins. I stopped, tried to regain my focus, to find a source of strength to draw from. God knows I can't go on like this or I'll just drop dead. I looked up, and then I saw in the dragon's hands, amidst the hellish haze of smoke and fire, the limp figure of a girl with brown tresses and forest-green lifeless eyes, completely motionless, and what looks to be splatters of red all over her sparkling pink gown. And that was all I needed. _

_Something white and painful blossomed in my gut and in my chest until it burned like a thousand Suns, setting my throat aflame until I was screaming too: not inspiring and confident like a champion, like I was normally known for, but of pure berserking fury. I don't remember what happened next, but I do know that I charged, straight into the dragon's infernal blaspheming throne, and everything was just white light and painful noise for the next few seconds and the only image I could see was that of Rapunzel, but there was no light in her eyes, no bright spark or tremors of fear or even an expression of agonizing pain. They were just open. _

_Twice now that creepy heartless bitch had tried to take her away from me. Only this time, she had succeeded. _

_The next thing I felt was an iron grip around my waist. It's tight, a little too tight: something was snapping and there was an odd tingly sensation that my mind would register as pain in the next morning. If I live to see the next morning. _

_I was face to face with the menacing evil, staring straight into its fire-scrimmed jaws, struggling to move my arms and legs. The mocking laughter of Mother Gothel echoed in my ears. The true voice, not the frail old woman who sang songs, but the deep baritone of some demon-witch, something from my worst nightmares. A voice I had always envisioned Death to sound like. _

_She held me, long enough for my gaze to linger at Rapunzel's dead body and drain me of every fiber of hope. A simple flick of her hand and there I was! Airborne, spiraling down the tower, watching the buildings rise above me and the ground rushing up to greet me. And I was just about to fall to my death on a concrete pavement floor when suddenly -_

* * *

Woah, let's slow down a bit. You look a little lost.

Name's Rider. Flynn Rider. One and only one person gets to call me Eugene, and I really wish it were you, but actually it's said dead princess who's currently in the clutches of her wicked step-momma-dragon. No, this isn't the story of how I died. Dying was the easy part, that dragon notwithstanding. I guess for some people, stealing royal jewellery and escorting lost princesses with magical glowing hair and then cheating death may be an adventure enough to last you several lifetimes, but for me, that day was just ho-hum Tuesday. You know, business as usual.

You see, I'm old enough to realize that you don't need to go out looking for adventures. The best kind of adventures always come looking for you.

I'll have you know that me and Rapunzel got into all sorts of trouble in the next few years after we met: in-laws, arranged marriages, masquerade balls, that one time where she signed me up for jousting and I had to fight for her honor with Maximus and a lance. But the greatest adventure, I think, the one that tops it all, was the story of our happily ever after. You know the worst thing about happily ever afters? They never last.

As much as I'd like to claim that this is the story of me being the great fearless hero of every fairytale come true, being dashing and rescuing damsels and all that jazz, it's more of someone else being . . . well, not. Because most stories about me have this strange habit of revolving around . . . . well, not me. It's actually a story about everyone's least favourite people on earth. The worst scum there is, in the lowest pit of society and still drilling their way deeper down the bedrock. Those two gorillas Stabbingon.

There was once a time when I thought it wasn't possible for me to hate anyone on earth more than I did the brothers, both Cutjack and Cyclops. A time when I would gladly have hanged them _myself_ for all their crimes, for taking Rapunzel away from me and nearly losing her to that creepy heartless bitch. And now . . .

There I go again, getting ahead of myself. Maybe you should find out for yourself, or trust me, you wouldn't believe it.

**Author's Note**: I will return to third-person narrative in the next chapter.


	2. One Year Ago

**Warning:** This chapter contains themes of hell, death and the afterlife. Please read at your discretion.

_Memento mori: Remember your mortality_

**ONE YEAR AGO**

When Mother Gothel finally hit the ground, it didn't hurt at all.

She just broke through the ground like it was the surface of cold water.

Falling, endlessly, straight into some deep, dark unfathomable. The green pastures one moment, complete obsidian blackness the next. There were shadows of shadows, and somewhere in the thick dark infinity, a phantom light flickered like a beating heart, beckoning her near with a siren call.

She drew her breath - and realized she didn't breathe in at all. Of course. What would she need with air now?

She checked her hands and her worst fears were confirmed: they were see-through, glowing with a green light, and like someone's cruel idea of joke, the fairest and smoothest she had ever seen them in a long time, even with magical hair therapy.

So it had finally come to this.

For the first time in her life of power, control and immortality, Mother Gothel felt a twinge of fear tug at her soul.

The phantom light in the distance swirled and frothed uncontrollably in a chaotic torrent, dancing around the corner of Gothel's eyes. There was a twilight of terrible transformation: first a huge flame, then a pillar of fire; a blazing inferno, tall as the Tower, and just as quickly as it had grew, the fire disappeared, leaving in its ember-wake a lone skeleton figure clad in black robes. It was the grand hooded terror himself, hourglass in one hand, soul-reaping scythe in the other. With two blood-red orbs for eyes, he glanced a chilly glance at Gothel, who folded her arms like it was the most natural thing to do, then he turned his gaze to the hourglass. The sand had stopped flowing.

_"You're late."_

Death's booming voice carried with it a sense of finality and unquestionable authority that gave the 500-year old witch pause. But she scoffed, her face haughty and defiant even in the face of Death himself, _"_Tis' impossible to be late, when one had never intended to come in the first place."

_"Everything that is will return to me."_ He pointed an accusing bony finger at her, _"Even you, __**Gothel**__. There is no escape for you this time."_

"No," she said, then repeated the submissive word softly, as if to convince herself, "No. I suppose there isn't."

Darkness and silence.

_"But there is still one last matter to attend to."_

The Grim Reaper swirled his hands. Shadows parted to give way for a mirror, and for a moment Gothel thought she would finally be able to see herself back in her splendid youth, but instead of seeing the black curls and smooth hourglass figure, she saw someone else.

A brown girl with green eyes.

"Rapunzel?"

The blasted little girl was cradling the dead thief's body, tears streaming down her cheek. She was mumbling (oh how she hated mumbling), calling futilely for that magic glow, slowly watching the life leave Rider's eyes, as Gothel was watching now.

Then, as the scene in the mirror transpired, so did something else. Darkness was shifting, making way for another spirit. This one was bright and yellow, and as the light slowly reassembled itself to form the silhouette of a man, Gothel knew exactly who he was. A devious, crooked smile curled around her lips.

"Well, well, at least my death was not _entirely _in vain," she gloated, "Good to see you in hell, Rider."

The man lowered his eyebrows. "Wouldn't be hell without you."

"Charming."

_**"Eugene Fitzherbert." **_

The dreaded Book of Judgement flew into Death's bony hands, flipping itself to a page, written in red ink, the deeds and sins of every mortal soul.

_"You were born into abject poverty and orphaned at the age of two, where you copped a living out of scandal and dishonest trade to pursue your own selfish desires. You have committed acts of adultery and sexual immorality, stealing, the spreading of false testimony and coveting. You have dishonored the name of your father, worshipped the things of the earth, and defiled the bodies of which are not rightfully yours. How do you plead?"_

Rider swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, the powerful apprehension of hearing his own life testimony read out to him placing him in near-carthatic shock.

"Guilty."

_"Honesty. A sign of change within you, however late for it that it may be." _

He shrugged his shoulders modestly, "I've been on an honest streak lately. Say, does the book say anything about the part where I sacrificed my own life to save someone else?"

_"Indeed it does."_

"Do I get extra brownie points for that?"

_"You do not."_

"Oh wait, I know. This is the part where you say, 'the power of love conquers all' because I'm a changed man now and you pardon me of all my sins and give me a second chance at life, right?" he said wistfully. He might as well have been begging.

_"No. This is where you burn in the river of sulphur for eternity."_ The book snapped shut with a resounding, final boom. "_You will never leave this place."_

Rider faltered, the color fading from his face, but what neither he nor Death knew was that something drastic was taking place back in the mirror of the living. Something that would change Rider's fate completely.

Gothel was the first to notice.

"No, no, no," she cried, watching the magic blossom in the dead man's chest, "Don't tell me her tears have got magical powers too!"

"What?"

_"WHAT?" _

Suddenly the silent darkness was filled with a voice.

A familiar voice of dolorous pitch, as dolcet as the larks and guileless as the swan. Rapunzel's voice.

**_. . . Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine . . ._**

Rider was spellbound. Gothel was fuming. Death just stood there, poker-faced as a skull could be.

**_. . . Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine . . ._**

"I hear Rapunzel," he said, dreamily, and a smile broke across his face, "I hear Rapunzel! She's calling me back."

"_No one leaves this place." _Death's voice now sounded more helpless, desperate. _"There is no escape from me here when you are in __my realm!__"_

But Rider's spirit form was already disappearing into the darkness. Mockingly, he gave a toothy grin and waved goodbye to the great Destroyer of Worlds.

**_. . . Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design . . ._**

"Stop this nonsense now," Gothel ordered Death, "Don't let them get away with this!"

"Hey, creepy heartless bitch!" One of Rider's fingers shot up, but his form was so blur Gothel couldn't tell which one. She could hazard a guess though. "Have fun down there!"

Death lifted his scythe and swung it down onto Rider's head. It simply fazed through.

**_. . . Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine . . _**

**_What once was mine._**

Silence.

And then he was gone.

Gothel stood, gazing at the dark space where the thief's form was a minute ago, breathing heavy panicked breaths, until she remembered that she didn't need to breathe. That pompous bastard! How did he manage to escape this and not she? Was she not the cleverer one? The powerful witch, and he the street urchin? She turned to Death.

"Why couldn't you stop him?"

"_I do not know."_

Gothel's mouth went agape, "How did that ridiculous brat even manage to overpower _your_ magic?" An eighteen-year old girl. The Lord of Death. It didn't end the way she thought it would.

_"That girl has magic more powerful than my own-"_

"Please don't say the power of _love,_" she drawled.

_"- A tiny drop of sunlight_," he replied, irritated, _"can outshine the darkest hell. I am powerless against her."_

And a malicious thought popped into her mind.

She smiled dubiously. Perhaps she could still save herself after all. Eugene had magic by his side, but she had a talent that she possessed in perfection: the art of manipulation.

"So I assume you would be content with just me?" she hummed in a singsong tune with the sole purpose of aggravating Death.

Death cast a sideways glance, walking away into the darkness. _"He will come. Eventually, they will all come."_

"Not as long as she's alive."

He stopped walking.

She pointed back to the mirror. Rapunzel was now straddling her man, kissing him passionately and holding him tightly, as if she were afraid he would slip through her grasp and pass on again.

"As long as she has tear ducts, you will never see an end to this. Flynn Rider will always escape your grasp with complete ease."

_"The witch is not of my jurisdiction. The matters of the living stay with the living." _

"Precisely."

Death gave her a leer that would have melted steel. Finally, she got his attention. Time to work what she did best.

"Send me," Gothel said, "I can remove the root of the problem, and you will have your Flynn Rider back _and _the girl as a little gesture of kindness."

_"And what would you have in return?"_

"Their lives," she pointed straight into her chest, "For mine."

Time stood poised in a standstill as the Plutonian Lord pondered her words that hung in the air.

_"There is one more."_

"Who?"

_"The girl's mother."_

"Ah," she nodded, "The Queen."

_"Her title does not matter. All mortals are equal to me."_

"You want her dead?"

_"She has been long overdue."_

"Then I'll see to it then." She extended a hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Death stared blankly, and instead shoved the hourglass into her hand. The sand had begun to flow.

_"Your powers are indeed impressive for a mortal. You shall be my agent of death. My magic and power will work through you, and with that, my goals."_

Gothel couldn't help but cackle. Black magic at her fingertips. This deal kept getting better and better. Of course, she knew from first-had experience that deals with the devil never ended well. But she had nothing left to lose. The most dangerous kind of person there was.

_"But this magic is powerful. I would not be surprised if the girl possesses some form of immunity towards my power. You would need more help."_

"Oh, I'm a people person," Gothel said in the conniving undertone of a person who knew more than she was telling.

_"You have until the sand stops flowing."_

Slowly, she could feel tiny orbs of light envelop her, wrap her up. She could feel warmth returning to her body. Light was breaking through the crevices of the darkness, and from the distance was the green pastures again, and the tower.

_"But if you fail, __**Gothel, **__know this. There will be no mercy for your soul. Your place will be in Tartarus for all ages there are to come. And your body will cry out for a second death that I will never give, for suffering will be your name, and anguish your purpose."_

Gothel's body lifted out from the pits of hell, into the inviting light of the morn, the realm of the living. "Pleasure doing business with you too," she said, examining herself.

The first thing she did was take one deep, satisfying breath. She stretched her limbs, nimble as before, then snapped her fingers. Green light sparked.

Rapunzel wouldn't know what hit her.

Nobody's getting a happily ever after. Not on her watch.


	3. Five Months Ago

**FIVE MONTHS AGO**

No windows meant the Stabbington brothers rarely, if ever, get to see any sunlight in their cell. They had lived in complete pitch-black darkness, like rodent pests, drinking from dog-bowls and sleeping on the cold hard floor while mosquitos buzzed away at their ears. It's hard to argue they didn't deserve it, though. After all, stealing the royal crown and threatening to sell the Lost Princess away as a slave? They're lucky they still alive. Nah, they got what was coming to them and they knew it.

Their prison cell was no larger than a closet. Dark, musty, and dank. Better than most accommodations they've lived in. The only sounds they could hear was the steady trickle of water in the distance and the jingle of the warden's keys, who out of some cruel joke, placed it hanging on a wall, just out of reach.

Today, though, there was the sound of leather boots clip-clopping against the stone floor getting louder, and the heavy groan of metallic bars sliding away. Torchlight flooded their cell, revealing the numerous algae patches, murky puddles, and rat companions that they wish they rather not see.

"You've got a visitor," the Warden said, and departed with his routine derogatory spit on the floor.

This would be their first visitor.

Face half-shrouded in darkness, Cutjack glanced up from his corner, and lo and behold, who else had decided to grace them with his presence today but none other than-

He grunted, "Rider."

"You guys look like you haven't changed one bit," Eugene said in an undeservingly friendly tone, stepping into the jail cell.

Cutjack gave him a leer, sizing up the man with hawk eyes. He wore a purple sash around his vest now, the sparrow coat-of-arms damasked atop his jacket signifying his new social status as Prince-Consort. "Well, well," Cutjack said with ill-concealed spite, "Looks like you finally made it." His bulky form slightly slumped against the wall. "At least one of us is living the dream."

"Guess I just struck lucky."

Of course he was referring to the girl. But not everyone could find hidden towers resided by magical lost princesses. The Stabbingtons tried that and got mixed up with an old demon witch.

"Come on," Eugene offered his hand, "If we depart now, we depart as friends."

Cutjack stared at the offered hand, and shoved it away in an expression of abject rejection. He could stand up on his own. Five months of brooding malicious thoughts of revenge, fueling the overwhelming bouts of jealousy, it had drilled the grudge deeper and deeper into his heart, into some dark, unreachable place. And he knew Cyclops would follow suit, if only because his older brother was doing it.

Feeling rejected, Eugene quickly recovered, setting on a stony expression. "Follow me," he led the way with his torch through the dungeon corridors, "Let's get this over with."

When they finally stepped out into the light, it was like their skin was on fire. Five lightless months in the darkest bowels of Corona Kingdom would do that to you. All those childhood days burning ants, now they know how it feels like to be on the other side of the glass.

Standing there, like a blatant monument to all their sins, the imposing tower of the gallows.

Cutjack saw his brother's shackled hands trembling, and without thinking he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. There was a moment when the two brothers simply gazed, but the best form of communication doesn't involve words, it's the platonic bond that only blood can give and twin brothers share, when they know everything the other is going to say before they can even open their mouths. The look in Cutjack's eyes could not conceal his own fear, but there was gratitude, the nostalgia of all their adventures together, and the cold resignation to their fate, that all he could ever ask for was to at least have him by his side in this dark hour. And though they're a complete stranger to mushy feelings, the strength of a brotherhood isn't that sort. It's a tough love.

"I bet I'll survive longer than you will."

Cutjack was physically incapable of laughing, so he simply let out a grunt. "I'll let you know when you win."

"Sure, brother." His eyes turned back to the gallows, "Sure."

They continued their march to the wooden platform. The black, faceless executioner, despite having seen worse and done this a thousand times already, treated the ceremony with a near-sacred solemnness. This was probably the first time the Stabbington brothers were treated with such respect. Ironic.

"Wait. Stop this."

The Stabbington brothers turned round, and saw the Princess of Corona rushing up to them. Rider was not far behind.

"Rapunzel-"

"Please, Eugene. I want to talk to them."

"Taking orders from little girls now, Rider?" Cutjack snickered.

"_You_," said Rapunzel in a surprisingly commanding voice, "You will listen to me now."

Behind her, Eugene made a face as if to say, _'y'all got served._' They both conceded.

"You tried to kill Eugene once. You wanted to sell me away for my hair," there was a bitter poison laced at the edge of that otherwise balm-like voice, "I hate you, and I think you deserve to be punished." Her gaze broke for the fraction of a second, "But I don't want to have to watch as they kill you."

Cutjack wrung his hands in a Eugene-like manner that only made the whole thought all the more disconcerting.

"Well, you'd be the first."

"Your Highness," said one of the guards, "Your seat is prepared for you."

Rapunzel fidgeted with the rhinestone moires of her dress in an attempt to hide her discomfort; it was her idea of acting normal. "Thank you." She took one last mournful look at the Stabbington brothers before walking off, leaving the executioner to tie the ropes around their necks.

"Eugene . . . I don't like this," she whispered to him as she sat down on her chair, a mere ten feet away from them.

A terrible feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach suggested that he felt the same, but he wordlessly wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, offering what little solace he could give. Her heart was thundering, her whole body shivering, even more so than him. This was the day he had been looking forward to. The day the Stabbington brothers finally got what they deserved. He was supposed to enjoy this. So why wasn't he enjoying this?

Was it because every time he looked at the gallows, with the two Stabbington brothers gazing back, he imagined an extra noose there too?

"Any last words, brother?" the executioner said, hands already gripping the lever.

The two Stabbington brothers looked at each other, then to Eugene, and shouted with the intent of a profound final word that would be remembered forever, "Get a shave, Rider. You look awful."

The creak of the wooden lever resounded across the courtyard, and the wooden floor gave way, taking the Stabbington brothers along with it.

That was all Rapunzel could handle. She sprang up from her chair, surprising her parents, Eugene a lot less, who had anticipated this but didn't stop her. Instead he watched as she ran up to the gallows that held two limp and stiff bodies.

Her eyes searched ever so desperately for any light in their eyes. She poked them with one finger. It was cold to the touch. Their bodies oscillated.

Hands clasped over her mouth, Rapunzel found herself staggering a few steps back, then falling down to the ground on her knees. Her sobs was one of the most painful sounds Eugene had ever heard.

* * *

Death examined his two new arrivals with a look of complacent indifference before wandering off into the darkness, leaving them to burn in the white flames.

That was when a voice rang out in the emptiness, "Well, I thought he'd never leave."


	4. One Month Ago

_All good things to those who wait._

**ONE MONTH AGO**

_**"Gothel."**_

The reflection of the witch's youthful hourglass figure in the mirror was replaced by a dark black wisp, and the face of Death stared back at her.

She narrowed her eyes, and went back to brushing her hair, "Hello to you too."

_"My patience grows thin. Where are the souls?"_

She simply pursed her lips. "You will have them soon," then she went back to her vain womanly affairs, humming a song that had been the very bane of Death's existence for three hundred years. Centuries of possessing that magic flower and escaping her fate had proven just how foolish she was to fear death.

A ripple of light burst through the mirror, and Death walked out of the portal from the netherworld, not so much of walking as he was skating across the wooden floorboards. It was then that Gothel realized that she was the only one who could see him: the shopkeeper was frozen in his place, the tiny droplets of water suspended in the air en route to his mouth. Suddenly the whole store had become a wax museum of frighteningly-live figures, and the clock on the wall had abruptly decided not to function. Looks like it will be 4.05 pm for quite a while.

_"Why do I not have them now?"_

"I'm waiting for the right moment," she snapped, "Something I'm sure you must be well accustomed to."

_"I wait because I must. You have free will."_

"And the right to exercise it however way I wish," she said with a coarse brush of her comb, "The royal family will be making their appearance tonight at the grand opening of the St. Luther church. I have planned this, and I do not intend to fail."

_"Remember that you are mortal." _

A hand as cold as winter grasped onto Gothel's arm, and hellfire flowed through her veins. The comb slipped from her grasp as a scorpion of terrible, white light burned behind her eyes. Boils, misshapen like the faces of the tormented, festered across her skin, vile as cancer. She could feel her soul wilting, her features writhing, withering, dissolving, disintegrating. Wrinkles and boils, blood and white. Until the person who stood there was not the Gothel of eternal youth, but only eternal life. A Gothel who truly looked to be three hundred years old.

_"I gave you life, I can easily take it back. You are no more significant to me than the dust you collect on your cloak. "_

He let go, and the darkness sighed, leaving through the pores of her skin and the gaps in her eyes. Gothel took in one painful breath, feeling like her lungs were on fire, the pain of centuries slowly receding from her body. She touched her hand. It was smooth again.

_"If I do not have at least one soul with me by dusk, our deal is forfeit," _Death said before disappearing back into the mirror. _"Remember, __**Gothel."**_

Tick.

Tock.

4.06 pm.

The shopkeeper finished his swig of water and set the mug down back onto the counter.

"As I was saying the fountain of youth this ain't. But it'll give you back a couple of years. Finest potion out there," he carefully mixed the elixir into a flask, the fluorescent green liquid frothing up to the rim, "Guaranteed to make you feel young again."

Gothel blinked, her mind working back to the conversation she had merely a few minutes ago, and remembered. "Yes, well, no thank you," she said, voice still a bit shaky from the scare, "I don't think I'll be having need for it." Death had made that painstakingly clear already.

She bid the suspicious alchemist goodbye, donning her hood, and walked out the door, into the fresh air of the Corona countryside.

* * *

Being an old woman was like being invisible; nobody knew or cared that you were there. Always ignored, always ostracized, always underestimated. Such was their fate when age had come, and while some would pine for their tragic fate, others would use this to their advantage. Gothel was the latter.

A quick spurt of magic was all it needed to don the impregnable disguise, and now she could walk the streets without fear. Do any of these people know that the very person responsible for kidnapping the Lost Princess nineteen years ago was walking amongst them? Maybe they were expecting a horrible visage of a demoness, or a ruthless cadaverous warlord, but an old lady? Of course not.

The guards were not expecting any struggle to come from a hobbled old woman trying to enter the back door of the church from the cemetery. Nor were they expecting to suddenly be robbed of their ability to breathe as the green wisps of light suddenly blinded them, leaving them to choke and grovel on the floor as Gothel continued her undaunted, damned march towards the church.

Months of meticulous planning and harnessing her magic in the making, and it all starts on this first step.

Everything was transpiring according to _her_ design. The equine Captain of the Guard was sick, and will continue to be so until he stopped eating those green apples. The Snuggly Duckling was mysteriously burned to the ground in one night, started by a green lantern that was never lit. And merely an hour before the royal carriage had found itself one wheel missing on the way to St. Luther's church. That had delayed them long enough for her to set the plan in motion.

She came in from the larder, the creak of the door resounding loudly in the ghostly silence of this place. Nothing but the marble statues of Mary and the Prodigal Son stared back at her, cold stone eyes peering deep into her soul. There was no turning back now. She had made a deal with the devil, her soul was irredeemable. Her only hope right now lied in the dagger she clutched, trembling, in her hands, and the blood that it thirsted for.

She took her first step inside, and closed the door shut. As she unsheathed the dagger, the fireplace behind her suddenly burst up with a fire of wrath, crackling aflame before dying again into smouldering embers. She walked, the assassin in the church, ascending the stairs into the private rooms where, in one of them, praying a little girl's prayer with knees bowed down, someone was waiting for her.

She knocked on one of the doors, hiding her dagger behind her back. Light shifted on the other side.

"Mother?"

Everything had led up to this point. It all starts on this first step. And yet . . . she hesitated. The knife fumbled in her hands. Words replaying in her head like a broken recorder. _My life for theirs_.

"Yes, Rapunzel," she replied, a kaleidoscope of emotions battling over her, "Mother's right here."

* * *

"Sanctuary, sanctuary. Peace be with you, brother," greeted the archdeacon to Eugene at the church steps, where a large crowd of red-hatted cardinals and bishops were gathering to see the Queen emerge. The new prince-consort of Corona looked only slightly unsettled at the thought of being in yet another chantry again. One had to remember that before he was Prince of Corona, ruler of men, or even Flynn Rider the rogue bandit, he was Eugene Fitzherbert, orphan boy of many residences, no home.

"Peace out."

"Why are you not inside with Princess Rapunzel and Her Majesty? The Queen is expected to appear any moment."

Eugene shrugged, suddenly finding the masonry work on the church quite interesting, "Not my stuff."

"But it is. It is your duty as Prince-Consort to oversee all affairs of the kingdom, my Prince," cried the archdeacon in a sagely voice, "Even religious ones."

"If it's all the same to you, sir, I think I'll sit this one out."

The archdeacon nodded, apparently not of the very judgmental type. He looked up at the balcony. "The Queen is ready. Watch, Prince Fitzherbert, and pay attention to what she does. One day, you would find yourself in the same situation."

"Eugene!"

Rapunzel burst through the doors and came running up to him, much to Eugene's relief, and later, alarm. "Rapunzel?" He looked at her pale face in concern, "Are you alright? You look like you've just seen a -"

"Eugene, quick! There isn't much time!" She grabbed him by the shoulders - _forcefully_, her eyes quivering with fear. "Where's mother?"

"Your mother?" he blinked, "Rapunzel, what's this all about-"

"There's no time!" she cried, just as the curtains in balcony above them parted, and the Queen emerged to greet the holy congregation. Rapunzel gasped, and it didn't take Eugene long to figure out why. No shadow moved that fluidly. The glint of metal shone, like the careless revealing of an inexperienced assassin's weapon, and the distance between the figure and the Queen closed slowly. He had seen this enough times to know, and when he acted, it was purely out of instinct, breaking off into a sprint, pushing his way through the crowd, not paying attention to the people who reacted back with livid gestures. But some tiny part of his mind, that part of his mind that still surfaced from his days of heinous unspeakable crime, told him it was too late. He would never forgive himself for this.

Church bells were ringing.

Too many people.

Too far away.

_Too late._

Eugene didn't even have time to cry out as Mother Gothel raised the dagger above the Queen's head, black cloak fluttering in shadow, and stabbed it straight into her heart.

The church bells tolled the lament of a departed soul.


	5. One Week Ago

**Author's note**: Anyone still reading this? Well, time to find out. I've got the defribillator ready, more revelations guaranteed to knock your socks off, answers to some long-asked questions, and even more questions. This is when the crap starts to hit the ceiling, so everything else from here is going to be one large high octane adventure. I'll be returning to the once-every-3-days update after this. Let's do this.

**ONE WEEK AGO**

That night, the only lights in the sky were that of the lanterns, lit once a year to commemorate the birth of Corona's beloved princess, once lost, now returned. But that night the lanterns were not lit for her.

Rapunzel watched solemnly as they pushed the black coffin into the lake, catching the faintest glimmer of her mother's pale face inside before they finally clamped the door shut, encasing her in the stone tomb to rest for all eternity. She'd been standing out here in the darkness for hours, but her night vision still hasn't kicked in yet; all her eyes could see were the funeral flowers hanging around the alcove, stark white amidst the black canvas of night, fluttering in the chilly wind like moths.

The Captain of the Guard's commanding neigh rang out through the darkness, then the deafening earth-shattering din of 24 aqubusiers firing in immaculate synchrony. Figures slunk in the night. They were guards, nobles, royal servants and the royal family themselves, since Rapunzel had called this to be a private matter. But no one, not even Eugene, knew that three weeks ago, in that fateful moment when she was given the power to decide the fate of lives, she had traded one mother for another. She had made a deal with the devil, and the guilt was weighing so heavily upon her that she could feel the nausea. Or maybe it was something else? She wouldn't tell.

The black company stood, and watched the silhouette of the coffin slowly float out into the rippling water, offering itself to the abyss of a watery grave. It was engulfed in darkness, and they saw no more.

"Eugene," Rapunzel finally broke the silence, and how a voice so timid and soft could be heard across the entire lake was testament to the absolute quiet in that place.

He turned to face her; grim and haggard by sleepless nights, hair shaggy and uncombed, eyes blood-shot.

"Rapunzel?"

"Let's go somewhere private," she whispered, tugging him to the gardens, "There's . . . something I need to tell you."

* * *

Eugene yawned. Damn sleeplessness. The sleeping potions the alchemist made had no effect tonight, it was the same nightmare all over again. Skull-bones and scythes, an hourglass nearly full on one end. Rapunzel was snuggled up by his side in her night-gown and breathing softly, a picture of perfect peace and serenity. It was amazing how that girl could sleep so peacefully, what with every waking moment being a constant battle of nerves, and he envied it. Careful not to wake Rapunzel up, he walked out onto the palace balcony.

The kingdom was burning.

The sky had turned into a maelstrom of angry red, shrouded in inky black stains of smoke. Strong gales of dust howled across the landscape, burning infernos in the sky danced and crackled. It was like the gods had turned their biblical wrath towards them, in the slow unfolding of the apocalypse. The calm before the storm. None of them could explain what was going on, only who. Gothel. They needed a miracle.

He sighed, "We need a miracle."

"And a miracle you will get, Rider."

Eugene spun round, white as the sheets he had been sleeping in, as he came to face the speaker. Cutjack Stabbington's face was dark, and his eyes a haunting black, illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the balcony.

"I see you got rid of the goatee. Told you it was for the best."

If Eugene was shocked, he didn't show it. Instead, he unsheathed a dagger from his belt pocket, and in a flash of savage motion, lunged straight for their throats. It was easily intercepted.

"I killed you," he snapped through gritted teeth, wildly thrashing against Cyclop's grip, "I hanged you and I saw them kill you."

"You of all people should know that death ain't the end of all things, Rider," Cutjack said calmly, wiping the spit that flew from Eugene's mouth. "Now sit down and listen. Exchange pleasantries later."

"Why are you here?"

"We want the girl."

Something lit up in Eugene's eyes, a fierce fire which was summoned whenever there was the slightest hint of danger that threatened her. _"I knew it."_

Before he could do anything stupid, Cyclops pacified him with a quick left hook, and there was a stifled grunt that escaped Eugene's lips as he tumbled to the ground, finally getting the sleep he so desperately desired.

Cyclops rubbed his hands, "It's possible he may have misunderstood us."

"Damnit, Cyclops," Cutjack said, "You weren't supposed to knock him out cold."

He shrugged innocently, "Can't help it if he can't take it."

Cutjack grabbed the poor man by his hair and lifted him up, the pain on his scalp enough to jolt him back into consciousness. He awoke screaming, a few octaves higher than the brothers thought possible for a living creature. Damnit, this was a lot harder than it should be.

"Listen, Rider," Cutjack yelled, trying to shake some sense into him the physical way, "Gothel didn't raise us back from the dead. Your girl _did_."

Something in his statement pacified Eugene, for he stopped thrashing, and turned thoughtfully silent. He made a herculean effort to turn his head - with some help from Cutjack - to look at Rapunzel, the tiny creature curled up in a mountain of pillows.

The image came like it was just yesterday. Rapunzel, sobbing at the dead bodies of the Stabbington brothers. Sobbing.

Of course. The magical tears.

"Working for that creepy heartless bitch is the last thing we want to do. But there isn't much time," he set him down gently, "Gothel's coming for you next."

The scowl on his face told them he was still unconvinced. "So why are you on my side?"

"The only thing that matters in the world, Rider. Revenge," he said, the irony not lost on any of them, "But hey, no pressure, right? We've got our ace-in-the-hole sleeping there. As long as she's safe, she can't touch you."

Eugene ran a finger through his jungle of hair, his eyes lost in some remote train of thought. "You're wrong about that one. Just a few hours ago, Rapunzel told me something that just changed . . . everything."

* * *

"Okay, we're alone now. What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

Rapunzel wrung her hands nervously, an act that sent alarms ringing inside Eugene's head. "My mother's dead."

". . . yes," he said slowly, "Where are you going with this?"

"Don't play coy with me, Eugene. You know exactly where I'm going with this," Rapunzel said with an accusing tone that only made him all the more confused, "You've only made it so much obvious how it's upsetting you. You're always angry and you don't even talk to me anymore. Even Maximus is getting worried."

"Whoa, what, Maximus? Rapunzel, slow down," Eugene said timidly, with the delicate caution and fear of approaching a hornet's nest. Any attempt to comfort her only ended in a flat dejection with a swat of her hand, and a quick stomping away with enough dramatic flair to humble a Shakespearean actor. Did he miss their anniversary or something? Would she really be thinking about their anniversary about a time like this? Would she really like to celebrate the day she met the person who was the whole reason they were in this mess?

Maybe losing her mother had been too much. Maybe the stress was taking a toll on her and making her bonkers. Or maybe _he_ was just going bonkers. "You're sad about losing your mother, aren't you?"

"Am not!" she cried out petulantly.

"Rapunzel, I'm clueless. Give me a break. If you would just tell me what's going on-"

"I'm trying to tell you if you would just listen!"

"_I am listening_," he said, taking one of her hands in his. This was a sight he was not used to, Rapunzel being angry.

Her eyes - once always alit with child-like candor, but that was so long ago - they were downcast, laden heavy with the burden of guilt, her legs digging circles into the ground. "I know what you've been thinking. You want to know why I can't just use my healing magic to save her and bring her back from the dead. Well . . . you just don't understand." She broke away from his grip again, covering her face with her hands.

"Rapunzel, that's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Why would I get angry about-" he paused, "Well now that you mention it . . ."

"I knew it!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute," he said, hands waving placatingly in the air, "You mean to tell me you're mad at me because you think_ I'm _mad at you for not trying to save the Queen with your magic?"

She wiped something from her cheek with her hand before nodding sheepishly, "Yeah."

"Okay. This may not be the best question to ask right now but, just being curious . . . why didn't you?"

"I don't have it anymore. It's gone."

It took him a few seconds to process the new information. "What?"

"My magic's gone. My tears don't heal anything anymore. Not even Pascal's cold."

"Alright, that's not too bad," said Eugene, inwardly proud that he wasn't totally freaking out on this new revelation. A rare accomplishment for him. "That's it?"

"No, I have a theory."

"A theory."

"Yes," and she was suddenly giddy with excitement, "Maybe the magic gets transferred down to the next generation. Maybe that's why I inherited the flower's healing powers when my mother didn't. And maybe that's why it left me and . . . "

She stopped.

"Rapunzel?"

She suddenly fell into his arms, embracing him, and she looked up with tears in her eyes, with a countenance of joy and grief, comfort and fear, pride and anxiety. "Eugene . . . I'm pregnant."


	6. One Day Ago

_Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds._

**ONE DAY AGO**

There it was. Standing stony and tall in the dark alcove, like an ancient monolith from his past. The place where it all began. Where he died. Eugene thought he'd never be returning here.

Cutjack was nonchalantly engaged in the mind-numbing exercise of striking his dagger against a flint and watching the sparks fly, the pitch-black night making them glow like the light of fireflies. That was sure to attract loads of attention, and if Gothel didn't know they were here, she would now. Of course, that was what they were banking on.

"This is crazy."

Eugene glanced down from the gnarled branch of the tree he had been spying from to address the thug. "Crazy works," he said as he leapt back down, knowing full well just how disastrous a single moment of hesitation would be at this phase. If there was any hint of doubt, he had to extinguish it _now_. "And besides, if this plan doesn't succeed, nothing else will," he added with a shrug of his shoulders.

"We didn't come back from the dead just so we could help you back in, Rider," Cutjack huffed in protest.

"Hard enough coming back the first time," added his brother.

"Okay, how's _this_. If we don't do this, Rapunzel dies. And after that, I die. And sooner or later, Gothel comes for you, _you die too_," Eugene snapped, jabbing fingers into their chests consecutively, "All we have to do is stall her for the next few hours until her time runs out and Death takes her back, if what you said is true. And if we can't run from her, and if we can't hide from her-"

Eugene unsheathed his rapier, the finely-tempered steel of the blade glimmering splendidly in the moonlight.

"- we take the fight to her."

"Flynn Rider versus the Immortal Minion of Death," Cutjack nudged his brother on the shoulder and gave him a knowing look, "We all know how this ends."

"With champagne and joyous celebration, I'm sure," he said, then breathed in slowly, "You ready?"

"Right behind ya, Rider."

"Yeah," said Cyclops, "About twenty-five miles behind."

"Don't quit on me now," Eugene said, brandishing his two arrows, "Stick to the plan and we should be fine."

A terse silence. Doubtful looks. Nervous fidgeting.

"Hey Rider," interjected Cutjack once more, "You and Rapunzel. You guys, uh, married?"

A long, grumbling sigh escaped his lips. "Can we not talk about this now?"

"Just saying. I mean sneaking off here while she was still sleeping is a lot like you, but I never thought you'd actually play hanky panky and get her pregnant when she's only-"

Eugene bolted out of cover, out from the green foliage that had given him refuge all this while, and using the arrows as picks, he began to climb. The Stabbington brothers were not far behind. They took out their own arrows, jammed them in between the bricks, tried to hoist themselves up, and clumsily fell back onto the ground as the arrows snapped under their own weight. They were much too heavy.

"Sonvabitch," cursed Cutjack as he rubbed his sore back, "Rider? We've got a problem."

"Okay, okay, new plan," Eugene said in mid-climb, ignoring the creeping sensation of panic at the back of his mind. Why do none of his plans ever work? "Stay down here and try to . . . look intimidating."

Cutjack eyebrows dropped. "You mean like bait?"

"Maybe she'll get distracted long enough for me to push her off the tower or something. Then we can engage her on the ground instead."

"Rider, you remember what I said about your old plan being crazy?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wrong. This is worse."

* * *

Eugene barrel-rolled dramatically through the window, ending his stunt with a picture-perfect fencing posture and cover-model smile. His persona however, quickly dropped at the sight of which he would never be prepared for. Everything was as it had been one year ago. The clutter of clothes, dishes, and pots, the unmade bed, the long strands of dead hair. The dust in the air was so thick it was like a thing made solid, and it bathed the place in the dreamy mist of nostalgia. Everything was as it had been.

Except for that black hooded figure standing in the centre of it all with an hourglass in one hand.

Come to think of it, Eugene wondered how he didn't see something as striking as that sooner, but he didn't hesitate any longer as he brought his rapier up to face it, his knees dropping low and ready to lunge. "I'm here, Gothel. Take your best shot."

The figure's hands reached for the hood that hid its face in shadow, and it was pulled away. Eugene's sword wavered slightly.

"You . . . are not Gothel."

_"An accurate observation, __**Eugene Fitzherbert**__."_

"Let me guess," he said, circling him with slow, steady steps, "The last time we met was . . . a year ago?"

_"Approximately."_

"I don't suppose you just happen to be Gothel dressed up in a skull mask?"

_"No."_

Eugene poked him with his rapier, "The real deal?"

As if to prove a point, the hooded terror raised its hands, summoning wisps of serpentine shadow to slither across the room. Eugene's mind worked out shapes, that became faces, that became familiar people, most of him which he had seen at least once in his life - sorry, _lives_. But one of them was so terrifying familiar that nearly caused his heart to implode. _"I believe you recognize that one to be the mother of __**Rapunzel**__?" _Death said with grim satisfaction as the face twisted in agony, and the shadow swirled into a nexus to form his iconic scythe, "_Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds. And I have come to collect my debt."_

Eugene gathered up his spit and performed his mightiest expectoration at Death's face . . . bulls-eye. Of course, with Death being an ethereal form and all, his spit projectile phased straight through his skull, and moistened some of the hair strands on the floor in a dewdrop-like manner. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Now you watch. I'm gonna sing and that spit's gonna glow."

_"Were I in the possession of the capacity for emotion, I would find your petty insolence most amusing. However, this is not the case," _said Death, _"You may wait, as you wish, until Gothel returns._"

Eugene suddenly dropped his stance. "Until she . . . returns? Where? Where did she go? I've got a sword with her name written on it!"

_"Off to meet a friend who, as I recall from her exact words, is simply dying to meet her." _

Eugene could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

". . . Rapunzel?"

Death simply stood there, impervious to all the swirling cascade, a solid bedrock of the universe that knew neither pride nor fear, only duty. _"__**Gothel**__ knew about your plan. She knew you would think she was safest back in the castle. But that didn't stop her nineteen years ago, did it?"_

He clasped his temples, dropping his sword, "Oh no . . ."

_"God have mercy on her," _he said plainly, _"God have mercy on you."_

There was no time to waste. Eugene spun round, taking a careful path through the clutter on the floor. He grabbed the windowsill, preparing to leap out and take the fastest way to the ground no matter how many bones he broke, but then . . .

. . . another figure swooped onto the windowpane, black cloak fluttering in the wind, halting abruptly until she was a hair's breadth away. Eugene recognized her immediately. He skidded to a halt until he was lying flat on the ground and groveling his way backwards, eyes wide with fear.

_"It is too late. The deed is done."_

The next voice that came was the last voice he wanted to hear. "Now look what you've done, Rider," said Gothel, the red-stained dagger in her hand still dripping with innocent blood, her back turned to him as she stared out into the horizon. Eugene followed her demented gaze to somewhere in the distance, where he saw amongst the trees, as if planted there by someone, Rapunzel, in her night-gown hanging in the death throes of a canal. The hourglass in Death's hand finally came to a halt.

_"And the song shall torment me no longer."_

"Quite a picture, isn't it?" she said coaxingly, "Thought you might enjoy it from up here. Not even the king has a view like this."

" . . . Ra . . . Rapun . . ." The words could barely form from his mouth. Rapunzel. The baby. He had done a terrible, terrible mistake.

"Would you like to know what she said in her dying hours? Mostly incoherent mumbling, though I guess anyone would do the same when in so much pain."

Something in Eugene's mind snapped, for he simply stood paralyzed.

"Oh, don't worry, Rider. This tale comes with a happy ending," said Gothel as she raised her dagger against an unprotesting Eugene, "The two lovers reunite again . . . for all of eternity."

Eugene's sword struck straight through her open mouth.

* * *

Finally, something turned out right for the Stabbington brothers. Something small, but it still mattered anyhow.

"A secret passage," Cyclops observed as he tore away at the crudely-piled bricks, "Every fort has one."

"Shut up and keep digging," Cutjack ordered, so intensely engaged in the excavation he didn't notice a forlorn figure in the night swooping above them, "Rider needs our help." The gravel was hard and coarse, and their hands were already bleeding from all their herculean effort. Right now Cutjack wished that he brought a shovel and not an axe.

"We're not doing this for Rider."

Cutjack paused at this correction. "No, of course we're not."

"We're doing this for revenge."

"Yeah." Though none of them sounded convinced. And they plunged back into an uncomfortable silence where the only sound was the hoarse trudging of boulders as they scraped on the grass. That was the only sound.

The only sound . . .

Cutjack glanced back up at the tower in concern, "Been awfully quiet."

"A little too quiet."

Thunder roared. Lightning struck the roof of the tower in a flash of actinic-green, and the earth rumbled under their feet, as suddenly the world cried out in pain as it begun to split in half. The red sky poured hellfire, and the stars fell from their mizen roosts, and the moon was swallowed by a terrible, monstrous thing. A creature so massive it filled the sky with its form. Emerging from the tower, tearing it apart brick by brick as if it were breaking from its earthen womb, raining rock onto the Stabbington brothers' equally-hard heads, clawed, taloned feet sprouted; a vast pinioned spine as black as midnight; two crescent-shaped shadows that took the form of wings, and finally, a reptilian head, where two widowed eyes gazed upon the world. There it walked, a chief spawn from hell's lowest plane, a roar like the thousand voices of the damned, its head above the clouds.

And clinging onto its fire-scrimmed snout with a sword, so filled with primal rage and blind fury, was Flynn Rider. Stabbing the monster, and again, and again, and again. He might as well be scratching its nose.

The Stabbington brothers subscribed to the wise age-old adage that 'one should never run from a battle.' But they're willing to make an exception this time round.

Cyclops turned to his brother, as he always did when considering acts of crucial importance, "Run?"

Cutjack nodded, very slowly.

And they were just about to when hell broke loose. Stone fell from the sky, darkness swarmed all around them, pebbles and rocks and limestone and gravel, swallowing up ray after ray of light, until stone and black were all they could see and feel. The world closed in around them, and before they could stop it, they were trapped underneath seven feet of obsidian. Cutjack tried to push the walls of this new prison, to no avail.

Cyclops remained gravely quiet, then decided to say, "We're screwed."

Cutjack couldn't help but agree.


	7. One Hour Ago

WickedSong: Thanks! Wait till you see what happens next!  
Pizza Boat: Don't worry, I don't want to give too much of the ending away, but I assure you there will be one.

**Recommended Reading**: Since this chapter is going to be told from a more equine point of view, I went searching for authors here that did some really good Maximus stories for some nudging in the right direction, and hit the jackpot. _Straight From The Horse's Mouth_ by Ethos is one, a re-telling of the events of Tangled from the perspective of Maximus Valerius Domitius VII, our favourite white imperial stallion. It's an incredible read, with a voice that fits Maximus rather well, and the charm of the author's writing literally just falls of the page. Unfortunately, it stopped updating just when it started to get good. I was honestly waiting for Eugene to make his appearance, but looks like I'll have to wait a little longer. So anyway, check out the three chapters if you've got time. You won't regret it.

Anyway, back to my story. We've got two or three more chapters till this whole thing closes up, so stick around. Thanks for reading all the way through so far. You guys are great.~Reading Disorder

* * *

**ONE HOUR AGO**

Running. Leaping through the foliage, thorny branches grazing at his face, not really looking where he was going, but somehow letting his impeccable instinct guide him and lead him down the right path. The same path his hoofs had trod one year ago.

Maximus was starting to think he was really just one glorified chauffeur, ferrying people here and there all day long, but now isn't the time to be thinking about selfish things. Rapunzel was in danger. She had ordered him to find Eugene, and while he wasn't trained to abandon his masters at their most dire time of need, he also wasn't trained to disobey a direct order. Ah, confound the chain of command. So here he was, chasing some shadows in the dark while the Great Sorcerer tore through the ranks of petty human guards like she had an armada of self-controlled frying pans at the ready, and the thought spurred him to gallop harder, faster, until he was pretty much racing a straight line and the branches rustled and leaves hovered as he sped by, and then he came across a dead end.

Twenty feet separated him from the other side of the ravine. Without hesitating, like gathering thunder, the imperial stallion charged forward, clearing the trees and leaping so high in the air his milky-white coat intermingled with the clouds. TIme stood poised in uncertainty as gravity left him for just the briefest of moments, a still frame capturing sublime movement and muscle. And just as quickly as he jumped, Maximus reached back onto the ground without any loss of momentum, gracefully continuing his fierce gallop to find the tower.

Something wasn't right. By now he would at least see its peak at the horizon, the stone amongst the trees. But now he saw nothing. Did he take a wrong turn? Was his instincts leading him the wrong way? He had been searching the forest for hours now, refusing to believe he was lost. That was going to be a grave mistake that would cost Rapunzel her life. He couldn't fail, not now.

Maximus brought his snout close to the ground and started to sniff. What was he looking for? Right, the flowery fragrance of dandelion, Rapunzel's choice perfume. Surely there must be some traces of it left even after all this time. His refined sense of smell caught the wafting presence of a thousand aromas: beech, charred oak, chestnut, heliothropes . . .

. . . sweat?

Well, Rider always frowned upon the prospect of regular bathing.

With renewed vigor, Maximus bolted back into the right direction, frightening a couple of nut-collecting chipmunks as he nearly trampled on them. Yes, it was looking familiar again, the assortment of shrubbery, the alcoves, the rocky dried-up rapids. It was all coming back to him. He had leapt past the vines here, got hijacked by Flynn there, fell down that cliff over there. But the tower was still nowhere in sight.

Maximus kept running until he reached a clearing, walled in by a sparkling diamond waterfall that reached up to the sky. He was certain this was where the tower was, but all he could see were blocks of stone and ruins. Either his bloodhound sense of smell had failed him, or worse, he was too late. And he refused to believe either.

A wretched hand sprung out from the ruins right when Maximus was starting to approach. He reared back, surprised, watching with bated breath as the hand slowly pulled itself out from the ground, and the rocks slowly gave way, and who came popping out of the stone but none other than . . . .

. . . well, it wasn't Rider. A whinny of disappointment escaped his lips.

There were two of them. They were curiously-shaped, bulky much like the thugs, but these men had something sinister in their eyes. He recognized them, the gorillas from the prison. But where was Rider?

"I'll kill her! I'll kill that Gothel!" He heard one of them shout angrily, still oblivious to the equine observer watching them intently. Two gorillas shouldn't be much of a challenge for someone of his stature to handle, so confidently but cautiously he trotted closer. One of them - the man with the eyepatch - saw him first, and quickly notified the other with an elbowing prod. The two parties locked eyes, each sizing up the other, a threat, how dangerous, guessing the other's intentions, from the way they moved, the intensity of their eyes, and other small social cues that men who live on the edge and regularly flirt with danger have learned to recognize. Something flashed across their eyes - was it recognition? - and he saw them move their lips as if to form the words, 'it's-the-captain'.

'the-one-who-locked-us-up.'

They made their move first. And for someone so huge and bulky, they moved with incredible speed - grabbing him by the reins, and pulling hard. Maximus struggled back, but this man was strong. Very strong. Stronger than Thomas the ex-Captain or Flynn Rider.

"Listen, horsie," he snarled, his breath reeking with something horrid, "You don't like me, and we sure as hell don't like you. You're that little black sheep of the ranch who nobody wanted to ride on because you're waiting for that one special rider to come and tame you. We don't like that."

Scorned, Maximus allowed himself to snort, but was quickly and roughly handled back by the strongman. "But here's the deal."

Maximus glared back.

"Rider's gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle again, and Gothel's going to kill him. And as much as we would like to bring our own personal army to their doorstep right now and end this-" He gave the reins a slight tug, "-the kingdom is a five-hour walk away."

They were staring each other down now, their foreheads clashing, their eyes a hair's breadth away. The intensity of his leer was enough to melt steel.

"Am I making myself clear here?"

* * *

"Alright, Gothel, first you tricked us. You left us to rot in jail. Mocked us in the afterlife. We're big men, we can take it. But when you mess with Rapunzel, things get personal." Cutjack drew his sword with all the theatrical sangfroid of a knight, and kicked his new steed Maximus on the side. The trio shot forward like a circus act, Maximus galloping furiously back to the kingdom where dragons were fighting. "COME AND GET IT COLD! YAH!"


	8. Now Where Were We?

**Author's Not**e: Exams. It happens to the best of us. But now that I have free time before my other big one just round the corner, maybe it's time to dust this story off and take it off the shelf. I'm hyped to bring this story to its resolution. Enjoy reading!

**Now Where Were We?**

_Oh, right._

_There I was! Airborne, spiraling down the tower, watching the buildings rise above me and the ground rushing up to greet me. And I was just about to fall to my death on a concrete pavement floor when suddenly - _

"Gotcha."

Maximus's lungs heaved upon the addition of a new weight on his back, but his galloping pace went undeterred, blazing through the burning streets towards the castle at breakneck pace.

Flynn looked towards his rescuer. "Cutjack! You came ba-"

"I'm Cyclops. He's Cutjack." The brother pointed to the one riding at the back.

"Cyclops! You came back!"

A scorned Maximus let out a neigh of disapproval and gave the ungrateful little thief a leer.

"Alright, alright," Flynn said with a sheepish grin, "So you _all _came back. And may I applaud your timing?" He glanced down at the stone floor where he should have been a messy pancake seconds ago. "Dying's not really that fun." Nods all around meant they agree, and that on a related front, sticking around with a fire-breathing dragon nearby and who's sworn revenge on you is a counterproductive idea if you're planning on avoiding it.

Somewhere above them the sky became a huge shadow, and the air crackled crisply with a tangible infernal heat. The devil smile of the dragon beamed down like moonlight on them, and fireballs came raining down. Eugene shielded himself with his own arms, "So!" - his right shirt sleeve caught fire - "How do we defeat a demon witch-turned-dragon with the magical powers of death in her hands?"

Cutjack gave a nonchalant shrug as hailfire continued to pour down on him. "Last I remembered, Rider, you're the one who comes up with the plans."

"You got that right," he said, smirking, and he unsheathed his weapon.

"We're going to need a bigger frying pan."

"Well, I'm sure I'll think of something."

They descended into a long, thoughtful silence, using every resource, every inch of skill they had, to conjure up a plan. Eugene's eyes lit up with inspiration. "Two frying pans!"

_"No." _All eyes turned to where that husky, deep voice had come from. This was the first time any of them had ever heard Maximus speak.

Now it was rolling its eyes. "I have a plan."

"You-"

"In just a few more minutes, Gothel's deadline is going to run out, and her powers are going to be gone."

"-are-"

"All we have to do is survive, until we see some form of indication that maybe she's back to normal again, and we can overpower her with a flank-" he drew an attack arrow formation on the ground with his hoof, "-here, here and here."

"-talking."

The horse made a whinny that sounded suspiciously like a cry of frustration, "And you are not listening."

"Rider," the Stabbington brothers gave him an intense, reprimanding glare, "Listen to the horse."

* * *

Flynn Rider couldn't believe he had agreed to do this a second time.

The first time he did it, it was out of desperation, to escape from the entire palace's guard battalion, to avoid the hangman's noose, and to rescue Rapunzel before time ran out. There was barely any time then to argue for a better plan, and besides, he did it then to get out of danger.

Now he was about to be catapulted straight _into it._

The Stabbington brothers examined the wagon with a look of academic curiosity, wondering how such a simple mechanism like a lever was going to be Gothel's demise. Meanwhile, Maximus trotted impatiently a few floors above. He was going to act as the counterweight.

"You've done this before, Rider?" Cutjack said, savoring Flynn's discomfort and rolling it about in his jaws like well-done meat, ripe off the bone. He gave a pensive nod, giving a little squeal that he will insist to this day with his life to be, as far as he could distinctively recall, a very manly grunt.

He lowered his head. He coiled his arms in. He bent his knees apart. Then he waited.

One second he was standing there, trembling like a leaf, the next, with the distinct _thwack _of wood and a blood-curling scream, he was soaring in a majestic arc through Corona's skies, the air resistance making his body do involuntary trick-flips just as he descended right where Maximus trajectory calculation predicted: straight into the brick wall of a tower. He smashed it face-first, feeling the cartilage in his nose crumble into dust, his smolder capacity broken beyond repair. Being hit by a frying-pan was like a mosquito bite compared to what he had to go through now. "Bloody Max," he cursed as he pulled his face from the wall, drool trickling from his mouth, "He did that on purpose." To confirm his accusation, there was a loud, equine laughter coming from the ground, with some smatterings of a deeper chortle too. With the pair of arrows he had kept to this day, Flynn Rider climbed his way up until he reached a window, and scrambled inside.

A fireball struck the tower.

All around him, the walls of the tower was collapsing. Flynn couldn't see where he was going; a shower of falling rocks pelted down on him, light was dancing across the crevices, and the very ground beneath him rumbled, sometimes simply shattered. The only thing he could concentrate on was to take one step after step, heading a general direction of upwards on the staircase even as he could feel the very world around him begin to fall. The tower was surely not going to last long. He might not make it to the top in time. This was crazy. Unfortunately for them all, Flynn likes crazy.

He barreled the door open and into the blinding heat of dragon-fire just as another impending fireball rocked the floor with a puff of vaporized stone. The debris cloud waned, and he found himself staring, once more, straight into the eyes of the Black Terror, scaly, nightmarish, and . . . black.

_**"You just don't know when to quit, do you, Rider?"**_ Every animal was feeling the need to talk today. It was surreal.

He needed to wait. Just a few more minutes and Gothel would no longer have her powers. But there was no time left, not for him. He brandished his frying pan. Hardly the vanquisher of unholy terror, but so very, very effective.

_**"You've been a thorn on my side for far too long. But I don't need you OR Rapunzel any longer. Now I am Death!" **_She raised a taloned seven feet-long claw._** "And now you are mine!"**_

"You never loved Rapunzel." He doubted she could hear him over the crackling of the flames or the howling of the winds, but the anger blossomed and flared in his gut until it singed at his throat, "You used her and manipulated her for eighteen years of her life. You stole her. And now you've stolen her from me!"

Adrenaline. Pure adrenaline. The dragon's death rictus grew larger and larger, and one second was all he could have before he realized that she was getting closer and closer, because _he was running towards her. _He swung.

Something shattered upon collision, but it was most definitely not the frying pan. It echoed with the familiar metallic _thud_, like the grate of steel on steel, and such was the force that his entire hand was gripped with tremors that zig-zagged up his spine, and his teeth chattered so much they felt like they were about to fall out.

The dragon was dazed by the blow, knocked out cold completely. She fell, flattening a dozen buildings into the dirt until they were nothing but straw and ash, taking Eugene along with her.

When the wall of dust finally cleared, there stood three people among the ruins, the remnants of the dragon nowhere to be seen. First there was Eugene, looking happy as the bee's knees. Then there was Gothel, looking not so happy. And finally . . .

_**"**__Your time is up, __**Gothel." **_Blue flames flared up in his eye sockets, _"Are you ready?"_

"I don't understand," her veneer had cracked. She pulled at her hair in frustration, confusion, desperation. "How did you . . . it was just a frying pan!"

Eugene, too, was looking at the frying pan with a look of newfound reverence. In the end, all he could do was shrug. "Frying pans. Who knew, right?"

Death held out one bony hand, _"Tartarus awaits you. An eternity of suffering in which no mortal on earth has ever endured."_

The fear was so tangible in Gothel's eyes. Eyes that normally carried with it a twinkle of malicious intent, some slimy misgivings, false honey laced with poison, but now they were wide open with terror. And for just the briefest of moments, the manipulative, conniving Gothel sneered back, "At least I have one last consolation prize waiting for me back there. An old friend whom I'm sure is simply _dying _to meet me."

The sickening _dread _coiled within Eugene like a viper. He didn't care to look at the once proud dragon-witch, now getting what she deserved all those years, as the fibre of her very being was sucked into a netherworld portal, her flesh and bone disappearing like steam. He couldn't gloat or soak in the revenge or do anything Flynn Rider would normally do. Because what Eugene could not ignore was the girl who was lying motionless on the floor. The one thing he had died once to protect. It was so painful, to see their roles reversed, but he _could not heal her. _He was helpless. There was no more last-ditch rescue, no more deus ex machina, no tiny drop of sunlight to give a second chance. When Eugene sacrificed himself back at the tower, he told himself - and he knew it to be truth - that he would gladly go back and do it again, and nothing has changed now. He would do anything to trade places with Rapunzel. Eugene may have deserved it, but not . . . . not her.

A hand came over on his shoulder, and Eugene looked up. Of all the people to give him comfort, he did not expect it to be the Stabbington brothers. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, there was what seemed to be a genuine, mutual sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Rider."

He felt rivulets of teardrops roll down his cheek. Real men don't cry, or at least that's what Flynn believes. They drink their sorrows away and act distant and stuff. But he was not Flynn. Flynn Rider died in the tower. "My name is Eugene."

"There's nothing we can do left for her."

Death came for all, and Death did not show bias. Unless . . .

Eugene stood up, a fire smoldering in his eyes. "No. There is a way." The Stabbington brothers knew that look, the kind everytime Eugene was about to ask them to march into hell and back. Only this time, literally.

**Author's Not**e: Animals talk in Disney movies. Sometimes, a little too much than they should be. One final chapter to wrap this story up. And if we're lucky, an epilogue.


	9. In Whence Time Has No Meaning: Part 1

**In Whence Time Has No Meaning**

No, the journey does not end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take.  
The grey rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass."  
-Gandalf, Lord of the Rings

_You humans really do love your stories. What is that phrase I always hear?_

_Ah, yes. __Once upon a time._

_In my world, there is no 'Once upon a time'. That is because there is no 'once', and that is because there is no past. Nor is there a present or a future. I do not use the concepts of 'was', 'is', or 'will be', because in my world they are all the same. In my world, I travel through time as if it were a map, and I peer from above and I see all things. I am Death, He Who Brings in the Night. I don't think we've met before . . . yet._

_Tell me. How long have you lived? A hundred years? A thousand years, like __**Gothel**__? Multiply that by another thousand, and then multiply that number with another thousand, and you will never come close to how long I have existed, watching you in every shadow and from every strange face. I have been amongst you since the beginning of time, and will be until the end: an eternity. _

_Forever. _

_I have seen the faces of your forefathers, and I have collected the souls of your children. Your life to me is but an ephemeral speck that disappears in an instant, centuries pass by and for me it was like a split second. And I have learned everything there is to know about mankind._

_Here is one thing I 've learned about you. You humans have the habit of overcomplicating the simplest of matters. Happiness, love, joy, they are what you yearn for, correct? They are quite hard to come by, these. Let me tell you why: in the eons that I have searched this universe, I have concluded that they do not exist. Take the universe and pass it through the finest sieve, and tell me if you can find one atom of happiness, one molecule of joy. You who search the stars for meaning with your horror scopes and astrology, you who indulge in wanton pleasure in the pursuit of happiness. All that you experience does not last. They are not real. But the greatest culprit of your fumbling ignorance is this nonsense you call love._

_Love is nothing but hormones and impulse. It is you humans who give it meaning._

_And that is why you are here now, are you not? __**Eugene Fitzherbert**__? So much bravery in your heart, but that too is fleeting. I have already foreseen it. I already know what will transpire._

_Would you like to know how __**Rapunzel **__died? _

_No, it does not matter. I will tell you._

_**Gothel **__hung her with the very hair she left in the tower, a punishment that had awaited __you __using the very power meant to save you. Sometimes even she scares me._

_But let me tell you what will happen. Now._

_You will march through the gates of hell and comment about my disgusting taste in interior decorating. You will walk through the soul-searing flames, your soul shall bleed dry with the tangible agony that reeks through this place. And as you lay there, withering, my hell-hound Cerberus shall devour you whole, never again to see the light of day.__That is what will happen. _

_But that is not what __is__ happening._

_What is happening is the darkness of hell fleeing from you. The fires that burn strongest in my realm, extinguished, the phantoms, snuffed out. And I know why, as I see you carry in your hands the lantern of Corona Kingdom, the last ray of sunshine I have not. Yet. Destroyed. Very clever. So now you stand before me._

_So tell me, __**Eugene Fitzherbert,** for I am curious. _

_What is it that compels you to sacrifice your life a second time for another? What do you see in her that drives you to ignore the basic instincts of survival so ingrained into your primate mind? That you would face Death rather than spend your brief lifetime without her by your side? Love?_

_What you call love, I call my last mystery of mankind to unravel._

_What?_

_What was that phrase you used? _

_She's one in a million. There's no one else in the world - the universe - like her._

_Interesting._

_In most cases, there is, and you will find one, if you wait as I do and see like I have. She's one in a million in a pool of a hundred billion. You say this because you are too narrow-minded. You are mortal. But for __**Rapunzel, **__the circumstances behind her conception was . . . _

_. . . extraordinary. _

_Not even in my existence will there be another like her._

_For millions of years I have watched your kind, and yet, you still find ways to surprise me. __**Eugene Fitzherbert, **__you may just be interesting enough for me to spare you._

_Go. Take __**Rapunzel**__. I will let you leave._

_But we'll be meeting each other again real soon._

Author's Note: Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	10. In Whence Time Has No Meaning: Part 2

_**Author's Note**: Okay, so I lied. There's another chapter after this. But it will be resolved, really. I also discovered that there's a very morbid side to me that should never really be opened up again._

_Warning: Dark. You are not Flynn Rider. Do not try this at home._

* * *

_I shall but love thee better after Death  
__~Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

Waiting was never easy for the Stabbington brothers. They were more of an 'act-now-talk-later' kind of people, not really impatient per se, just quick and eager. Proactive.

Waiting while sick with worry and exhaustion was a near impossible feat, too much to ask out of them. But honestly, when Flynn Rider proposes to kill himself and then gives them to instruction to wait . . . well, what on earth were they supposed to do?

Bad things happen when they wait. They waited for Rapunzel and look how that turned out. They died. True it would have turned out the same either way, but at least they didn't have to stomach the of delaying the inevitable. When fate beckons, you rush out to meet it.

And another thing too: kill _him_? Had he gone insane? Yes, the act of strangling his pretty little neck had been on the top of their to-do list for about two years, but they were fickle people too. You can't keep hating the same person for two years, especially after his girlfriend whom you tried to sell in a bag brings you back to life, no strings attached.

_"This was what you always wanted, right? To kill me, to kill that Rider?" _he had said, somehow coming off as both standoffish and submissive at the same time. _ "Well, here's your chance. Do it." _Those lines were not delivered with the broken tones of despair or heartbreak they thought he should be feeling. In fact, he seemed pretty nonchalant with the whole thing too, a bit facetiously congratulatory even (Hey, she died! Welcome to the club!).

No - there was that sparkle in his eyes, the cock-sure determination that preceded every Flynn Rider plan and chase away any clouds of doubt. Ah, so he had a plan.

He really had gone insane.

Funny how they hesitated even after being offered their chance for revenge on a silver platter. They could have dragged it out, eked out every inch of satisfaction they thought would come gushing from this one climactic moment. But drama was Flynn's forte, not theirs. Theirs was 'to-hell-with-it-slash-die.'

Cutjack did it in the quickest and most painless way possible. He'd done this a hundred times before, but it had never felt so . . . disturbing.

Bastard had tossed him a wink before he did it too.

So now here they were, babysitting a dead body, carving trees and pretending not to care when they should be looking out. They were waiting for something, right? A signal?

Back when they were still a unit, Flynn used to give the most horrendous bird call to signal an attack. They found that it worked too well: guards went actively searching for that poor bird to put it out of its misery, and instead found a grown man in tights perched atop a tree. Plenty of time for the Stabbington brothers to work their magic.

But they don't think there's going to be a bird call this time.

"Mother?"

Well . . . that was definitely not a bird call.

Rapunzel stirred, rubbing her eyes groggily, and the Stabbington brothers' heads spun towards her at the same time, stupefaction keeping them mute because whaddya know, the guy came through after all. No idea how he did it though.

The princess got up slowly, blinking.

* * *

Flynn was expecting his second encounter with the Lord of Tartarus to be in a splendidly-heroic fashion, blazing through the nine planes of hell like an arcangel of vengeance, armed to the teeth with a tree-sized sword for every appendage, mowing down demons with a loud blood-curling roar. He would barge down the gates, conquer the dead and atone the sinful and tame the mighty Cerberus, and in the lowest plane of the lowest depths, come face-to-face with Death himself, who will no doubt greet him with a booming voice of eternal finality and authority and _pure outrage, __**"WHO DARES TO ENTER MY REALM?"**_

He was _not _expecting to be sipping tea at a frilly table while giving advice on how to make the interior decorating to look less 'infernal' and more appealing (- _So I was thinking cochineal for the drapes. And limestone-glazed windows that gaze straight out into the Abyss of Eternal Suffering. And flowerpots. Flowerpots everywhere._ _Flowerpots as far as infinity can go. -"), a_nd instead of _**"WHO DARES TO ENTER MY REALM?" **_, there had been _**"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME MORE MILK ON YOUR TEA?", **_and so far, the most frightening words the Grim Reaper had spoken in the vague semblance of a threat had been, **"**You must not forget to dip the crumpets in the sauce . . . _or they shall be rendered worthless without it_!**"**

And now here he was. Sipping Earl Grey while a pink three-headed poodle licked at his toes. Who knew that the God of the Underworld was simply a lonely soul looking for some company?

_"- and that's when she taught me the nursery rhymes using guitar chords," _said the Grim Reaper, resplendent in a flower apron, _"What an absolute delight."_

"I hope she didn't cause you too much trouble."

_"What! Slap your tongue, __**Eugene Fitzherbert**__,_" said the Grim Reaper, _"She was a huge help to me. Very kind. She even knitted this nice flower apron for me. It goes very well with my midnight-black skull robe, don't you think? She thinks so anyway, she has very good fashion taste. I can see why you came back here to find her. More hazelnut soup?"_

"I'm fine, thanks."

The conversation dropped into a lull as both took to relish in their confectionaries - well, one did while the other discreetly poured it into a nearby flowerpot - and Flynn twiddled with his thumbs.

"I should probably get back."

_"Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted." _Observer of cultured eating as he was, the Grim Reaper slightly pressed the napkin to his chin, stood up noiselessly and pushed the chair back inside with a cutting manner most noble gentlemen would simply die to inherit._ "Visit me again sometime"_

". . . I seriously doubt that's possible."

_"Ah, well,"_ the Grim Reaper sighed, sipping his tea, "At least send _**Rapunzel**_ my regards."

He waved one bony hand, and the shadows parted. The gate of the living opened up again. Eugene realized that the moment he stepped out the door, he would be known as the hero who had not not only defied Death. He had also befriended it. Did that matter so much?

He had Rapunzel again.

_"You're a lucky man, __**Eugene Fitzherbert."**_

"I know."

* * *

_Author's Note: Gotcha_.


	11. Happily Ever After

**Happily Ever After**

I_ never did quite see them again. The Stabbington brothers, I mean. I came back from the land of the dead straight into the arms of an enthused Rapunzel, who in her fit of kissing and snuggling, made it very clear that she was experiencing something very strange._

_I told her it was called deja vu._

_We found Maximus under a pile of rubble that had once been the imperial stable, his right leg pinned down under some wooden beams and and twisted in a very unnatural way. Poor boy might have to walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Still mute, though, and I'm happy enough for that._

_Pascal had been hiding in a flowerpot the whole time, which was good because a lot of frogs died that day, and Rapunzel spent hours sifting through the corpses with the worry that maybe *this* one was Pascal and repeating the lines of how she was too late to save him. I thought maybe plucking a sunflower for her would help ease her mind. Quite frankly I wasn't sure why I thought that at the time, but I just died. Cut me some slack. And girls like flowers, right? Little did I know that when I held out the item in her hand for her to take, I realized why it had felt so scaly and . . . familiar._

_Just as planned, I guess._

_As for the Stabbington brothers . . ._

_I found an eye-patch and a pair of swords on the ground where I last saw them. Oh, and a razor. With a note hastily scribbled on it saying 'SHAVE'. Which might as well have translated to 'we're even now'. Did they run away right after they killed me? Who knew._

_What I did know was this: they saved my life. They brought me back Rapunzel._

_And just like that, we could forgive and forget. Move on with our lives._

_Our lives. _

_It's funny, one day you're thinking 'I just died to save a lost princess whom I rescued from a tower and fell in love with. Things can't possibly get any more exciting than this. This is the highlight of my life. Everything after this would just pale in comparison to the memory of this adventure.' And life pulls the one-up on you and shows you just how wrong you really had been._

_Sometimes I fall into that mindset again. Sometimes I really do believe that life from this point onwards is going to be dull and boring. But then that feeling goes away the moment I look at Rapunzel, and her swelling belly, and the little of bundle of life growing inside her, and I realize . . ._

_. . . the best is yet to come._

_Do I fear for the baby? The same way Rapunzel was taken away from the people who loved her most? Hah! No. They're going to have to deal with her mean left hook, and they'll have to get through me too._

_Besides, sometimes at night, when I look out the balcony, I can make out the faint silhouettes of two human-shaped figures, crouching on the rooftops where we used to keep the crown. Rapunzel would see the shadows in the fog too, and she would tell me she feels the deja vu coming over her again. I tell her I've never felt safer._

_Thus ends my story. All of my stories. From this point onwards, it's going to be the story of the daughter I'm about to pour all my love on. Or the son I'm about to raise in the ways of debonair and dashing roguishness. The story of the Fitzherbert child._

_This is Flynn Rider. It's been nice knowing you._

* * *

**Author's Note**: A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed: AIOFanNCRM, Joeyx2, CallMeIshmael, Hanging-on-a-thread, meaganl124, Spring-Heel-Jaqueline, Naimeria, LunarBasket, PoisonedRose12, EagleBlaze, NorthernLights25, Ethos, Polaris Nocturnal, Alltangledup95, NikkyPickles, EugeneLoverRapunzel, Queen Ceilidh, WickedSong, Princess Shahrazad, and Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron. Your comments kept me going throughout the whole story and let me know that I was doing something right. They were heartfelt, they made me smile, they were always my favourite part of logging into fanfiction. And I really wish I could reply every single one of your reviews from the last chapter, but they would just be different versions of a million thank yous .. . . actually, you know what? I would.

_WickedSong_ : I'm real glad you picked up on that. Heck, I'm just glad you've enjoyed the story so much to review it. And this is Disney after all, I wouldn't dream of an unhappy ending, no matter how dark it gets.  
_NickyPickles_ : Thanks so much. Your review made my day, and it gave me the warm fuzzies inside. I distinctly recalled walking around with a goofy smile on my face for the latter half of the day.  
_Pizza Boat_ : Why thank you. It's not everyday someone gets to be called an amazing writer. I'll treasure that.  
_EugeneLoverRapunzel_: That was so heartfelt it makes me melt inside when I read it. Thank you. I'd only ever dreamed of making such an emotional impact with my writing. Also, thanks for making yourself known after reading through the entire story in quiet silence. I appreciate it.  
_Queen Ceilidh_: Haha, plot twist indeed! After seeing the thugs break out into song and rearrange flowers, I knew this had to be done. Thanks so much for your review.

You guys are all champs. Especial thanks to Pizza Boat who took the time to review nearly all of my chapters and always let me know how much s/he enjoyed it. You, sir/madam, deserve a medal.

I want to thank everyone who's put this on their favorites list and alerts list as well. I would list them here too, but it's way too long. So you all know who you are.

Cheers all around for a crazy ride and the most enjoyable writing I've ever done.

~Reading Disorder


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